


For England

by Augustus



Category: GoldenEye (1995), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-26
Updated: 2003-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-11 08:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3320417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Augustus/pseuds/Augustus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alec and James meet again - in completely different circumstances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For England

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Spoilers for the movie.

He's predictable. However long they've been apart, Alec is confident he knows Bond's every move. The confident swagger, the arrogant set of his jaw… each idiosyncrasy is embedded in Alec's memory. If he closes his eyes, he can still see Bond's face, no matter how hard he presses his eyelids together, rubbing against the fragile skin with the palm of one hand. 

Sometimes, Alec wonders whether it's the same for the hundreds of women Bond's bedded over the years. He thinks that it might just be impossible to forget Bond once you've known him, as though he were not so much an agent as a parasite that manages to burrow beneath the skin. When his flesh aches, Alec presses fingers to his distorted cheek and pictures Bond dead and cold within his arms.

It's always like that, the intoxicating tangle of hatred and lust. Bond's eyes were never more alluring than when they closed in pain, dark lashes resting for a bloated second as he fought to gain control. Once, Alec would hurt him for the fun of it, crushing Bond's cheek against a wall as he whispered placations against his neck. Bond loved it like that, maddeningly hard in Alec's hand even as his muscles quivered from the strain, his neck arching in ecstasy as Alec's teeth marked and tainted his flesh.

Bond's lips are softer than they look. Alec remembers marking that fragile skin, remembers the opacity of Bond's breath as the metallic twang of blood flavoured his kiss. Stained beneath the tug of Alec's teeth, Bond's mouth was addictive in its incongruity, tasting of ice and vodka and cheap perfume. When they kissed, Alec would carve blushing nail furrows into the back of Bond's neck, sliding a hand beneath his creaseless shirt to feel the insubstantial drumbeat of his heart. 

Bond likes it when he's not in control. Back then, his back would arch and tighten as Alec pressed dark bruises into his skin. Bond's neck would taste of salt as he sank against the wall, one arm scraping harshly against the mottled stone as Alec twisted the other behind his back. On special occasions, he would comb his pistol through Bond's hair and whisper that he could almost learn to love him when he's voiceless and out of control. Bond knows nothing of monogamy, but he would twitch within Alec's hand in response to his words, slick and fevered as his lips parted around staccato breath. When Alec possessed him, it was always fast and fluid, his teeth scraping his affection along the curve of either ear.

Bond would never surrender, refusing to protest even as the stone grated a pattern across his flesh. When the pain heightened, his moans would become more jagged, curling up from deep within his throat and withering in the air. Alec would have loved to break him, but Bond was always too omnipotent for that. Alec's power was a gift and that knowledge would pulse within his veins as he buried himself in Bond and in ever-circling delusions. And, if Bond was doing it all for England, then Alec didn't want to know. 

When Bond came, Alec's name would fracture upon his lips. Alec never succumbed. Unspent, he would withdraw, smiling victoriously into the nape of Bond's neck. Tracing the sag of Bond's shoulders with his tongue, his arms would crush and possess and throb with the ecstasy of control. And perhaps Alec's predictable too, because each time they parted he would breathe and close his eyes, trying to remove the tingle of Bond's presence from where it lingered on his skin. 

This time, it's different. The game solidifies and the scent of mortality tangles within Alec's nostrils, maddening and obscure. His fingers ache, toes restless within the leather shroud of his boots. Resisting the urge to press a shadowing palm to his cheek, he blinks once and turns any momentary confusion into a vapid glare. In the near-darkness, Bond's eyes are bluer than he's ever seen. 

And he never expected this. There's a new victory in the confusion that shines within Bond's eyes, his lips twitching with words he's not sure how to say. Perhaps if he'd apologised, then the arc might have splintered, but instead there's nothing but silence and perplexed recognition. Everything is black and white in Bond's world and Alec doesn't need conversation to understand the tangle of friend and foe that glimmers from his gaze. It's always been this way, even when...

...but memories are crass illusions. Bond taught Alec that many years ago.

He will kill Bond or be killed. There's no melodrama in the knowledge, just a quiet contentment in the thought that things will end this way. Alec finds no resentment in such progression, refusing to veil himself with misplaced emotion when it would be an unbecoming waste of time. From kisses and bruises to this graveyard of effigies, begrudging respect and the dissolution of power have stained each hour of their days. Back from the dead, it's easy to see things with the clarity of change. Bond is Alec's destiny, whatever that may be. 

Within his hand, Bond's pistol sags, fingers shaking as they barely maintain their grasp. "Alec?" he murmurs, and there, in that tenuous moment, past, present and future meld into one. 

Resolved, Alec smiles.

**26th January 2003**


End file.
